


Variations on a Theme

by dancinguniverse



Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:14:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1264312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinguniverse/pseuds/dancinguniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight years on, it comes apart the same, but picking up the pieces will be a wholly different experience.</p><p>“What would I do as a senator?” Alicia scoffs, picking up her wine.<br/>“Be brilliant,” Eli tells her, seriously enough that she stops, lowering her glass again and staring at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Variations on a Theme

“Anything else?” Abernathy asks, peering down at Alicia and her opposing counsel. The doors to the courtroom whisper open, and Alicia glances back to see Cary slipping in. His face is tense, and she raises her eyebrows at him, but he gives a quick negative jerk with his chin, and she looks back at the judge.

“No, Your Honor. We’re good.”

“Excellent, then I’ll see you both tomorrow!” Abernathy says cheerfully, and bangs his gavel once. Alicia turns to start gathering papers, but immediately Cary is leaning over the railing, digging his fingers into her arm.

“Don’t go outside,” he says, voice low and urgent. “Your Honor,” he calls hurriedly before Abernathy can exit the room. “Could we speak in your chambers? Unrelated to the case,” he adds impatiently to the opposing counsel, who has stepped forward, suspicious.

“Cary, what—?” Alicia starts. Her hand finds her phone in her bag, and it buzzes like a living thing. She pulls it out, looking at the screen. Thirty-six new messages, and twenty-three missed calls. Her stomach drops. “My kids?” she asks, voice scraping out of her throat because suddenly she can’t breathe.

Cary glances back at her in pity, Abernathy paused curiously behind him. “They’re fine. No one’s hurt.”

Alicia swallows. She knows that look. Not from Cary specifically, but she remembers it all too well. He’s speaking to the judge, but Alicia hears them only dimly. She looks down at her phone again. Half the missed calls are unknown callers, just strings of numbers. Two of them are from Cary though, and four from Eli. One each from Grace, Zach, Owen, and her mother. The earliest, a half hour before the others started pouring in, from Peter.

The texts are almost all from Eli, and her finger hovers over the icon, hesitating. That’s when the door to the courtroom swings open, and a reporter advances down the aisle, holding out a recording device, and suddenly everyone is shouting.

Later she’ll remember Cary pulling her into the barred safety of the judge’s chambers and Abernathy towering in fury as he defended the sanctity of the courtroom. But at the time all she can hear, ringing loudly in a room built to amplify sound, is the reporter’s shouted, "Mrs. Florrick! What do you have to say about your husband’s latest sex scandal?”

* * *

 

The fact that this is ground she’s trod before doesn’t make it any less painful the second time around. After the initial shock and flurry of explanations, Alicia spends the next ten minutes listening to her voicemail and reading her texts, catching up on all the gory details. While she’s occupied, Cary confers with someone on his phone and Abernathy rants about the modern media, assures her he threw the reporter out of the courthouse, and then paces his chambers and makes them all tea. She feels oddly detached from everything. She has the creeping sense that the last decade has been a dream, that this is still the same scandal as the first time, and everything in between was all in her head. The comprehension wasn’t as immediate, then. She thought at first it was a lie by the press, or maybe just some misunderstanding. The story came out in twists and turns, knocking her off balance anew every day as her world unraveled. The safe space that she and Peter had built in Highland Park came down around them—around her, because Peter was in prison, out of the picture, and she was alone with a mortgage and two kids to take care of. The weight of it presses down on her chest all over again, overwhelming. Her heart beats faster, almost panicky. What is she going to do?

“Alicia,” Cary says, forcefully enough that it’s clear he’s said it a few times already.

“Yes, sorry,” she says, snapping back in. That’s ridiculous. It’s been over ten years since the last time. She runs her own law firm, and Peter’s a two-term governor about to make a bid on the 2020 presidential ticket. Her kids are grown, she’s not a housewife anymore, and this is nothing like the last time.

Cary is seated next to her on a couch in Abernathy’s chambers. The judge himself has stepped out. “I said I’ll bring my car around. We can get out of here, get you to the office, your house, whatever you want.”

Her phone vibrates in her hand, and Alicia sees Veronica’s name on the screen. She presses one finger on the screen to decline the call. “The office,” she tells Cary. She’s not a housewife, and they will not find her at home. If they want to ask her about her husband’s sexual exploits, they can call the office of one of Chicago’s most successful law firms and ask for one of the name partners. She won’t let them pretend she’s just Mrs. Peter Florrick.

Peter had taken her out for dinner last week. They had laughed about one of her recent cases and talked about Zach’s new girlfriend and gone back to Alicia’s apartment afterwards, made love and gotten up and gone back to work. It had been normal, and good. She thought they had been good. Her mind stutters and stalls again. Why? Why would he do such a thing?

Cary reaches over and takes her hand, squeezing it gently. “Hey,” he says. “I’ve got your back. Along with an entire law firm, right? So anything you need, you’ve got.”

Alicia nods numbly, returns the gesture with a brief press of her fingers, and takes her hand back. Her phone buzzes again, and Alicia looks down at the display, and this time raises the phone to her ear. “Eli,” she says evenly. Cary raises his eyebrows, and she holds up one finger, silently asking him to wait.

She hears Eli’s quick exhalation of relief. “Alicia,” he says, quietly enough that she knows he’s somewhere there are press. “How are you?”

“I just got accosted at the courthouse. Is that on TV yet?” She knows Eli isn’t responsible for any of this, but she can’t help the acidic tone in her voice. He’s too close to the person who is responsible.

“No. They’re showing some of the old footage, but nothing from you today. What did you say?”

“Nothing,” she says honestly. “Cary tipped me off, and we’re in Judge Abernathy’s chambers now. I’m heading back to the office in a minute.”

“Okay, good,” Eli says. “You shouldn’t talk to any reporters yet. I know that might be difficult, but—“

“I’m not coming to his press conference,” she interrupts, and she’s impressed at how calm she sounds. She continues, measured and deliberate. “If you send me a statement, I’ll approve it, but I’m not standing behind him this time.” Cary watches her steadily.

“No,” Eli agrees slowly. He lowers his voice even more. “I—Alicia, I’m sorry. I didn’t see this coming.”

“I’ve never seen it coming,” she says flatly. “Is he facing prison time again?”

Eli hesitates. “I don’t know,” he admits.

“Find out,” she tells him, and hangs up.

Cary stands, and hands her her coat. “I respect you so much it hurts,” he offers.

She settles her purse over her shoulder and finds a tiny smile for her partner. “I know.” 

* * *

 

Her phone continues to ring in the car. She accepts a call from Grace, but doesn’t know how to answer any of her questions: “Are you okay?” and “He told me he’s sorry, but if he’s sorry, then he shouldn’t have done it again,” and “Is he going back to jail?” She rejects another call from Veronica and a few from unknown numbers, reads a handful of texts from Eli— _Press conference at 4_ and _CNN are lying fucks_ —and scans through the statement he sends over— _My husband’s personal indiscretions should not be taken… strong leader, who cares deeply about his constituents…_ Zach sends one text— _I’m coming out_ —and a flight itinerary. His plane lands in eight hours.

When she gets to the office, she has to face a flood of well-meaning support, the eyes of every litigator and staffer on her as she exits the elevator, and the most curious or compassionate of them coming forward to at least nominally offer her their support, even if she would rather them not. She thanks them all and makes her way to her office as quickly as possible without offending anyone. When she gets there Robyn is waiting, leaning against the wall.

“What do you need?” Robyn asks.

“Apparently a staff meeting in half an hour, or I won’t get anything done the rest of the day,” Alicia answers, setting down her coat and bag. “And keep an eye on our jumpier clients.”

“You got it.” Robyn winks at her and heads out the door as if today is any other day, and Alicia could hug her for it.

Instead, she pulls out her phone and dials Peter’s number. She breathes harder with each ring. It seems to take forever, but between the second and third ring, he picks up. “—my wife. Get out,” she hears him say, voice muffled and sharp with anger, and then, clearer and more somber, “Alicia. Thanks for calling me back.”

“It’s true?” she asks. She settles into her chair, fingers tight on her phone.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard,” he starts cautiously. “There are a lot of rumors out there right now—”

“Did you fuck a girl younger than our daughter, Peter?” she asks sharply, voice going loud.

He doesn’t respond immediately, and she’s disgusted suddenly, disgusted that she ever married him, disgusted that she didn’t leave him the first time, disgusted that she didn’t see this coming, again. “A staffer,” he says heavily. “She was nineteen. I’m so sorry, Alicia, please believe me. I still love you.”

His words hang over the line, and she breathes for a minute through a throat gone suddenly tight, closing her eyes until she can speak normally. “Eli sent me a statement. I’m sending it back with comments. You can have someone read it for me at the press conference.”

“Of course,” he says humbly. He hesitates. “Can I see you tonight? Anywhere you want. I would really like to talk to you.”

Alicia bites her lip. She wants so badly to scream at Peter, but she knows that will only turn into tears, and she won’t give him that. She looks around her office, the house she built, taking comfort in the rugs and paintings she picked out, the familiar colors and geometry. That is the couch on which she and Cary have shared many an after-work drink, where she has sat with clients and stolen naps in between long days on cases. This is the desk from which she has won clients collective millions of dollar or saved them from losing it, brought forward the truth or held it quiet, kept people from prison or sent them there. She pulls in a breath, feeling like she’s drowning. “No,” she says, voice hoarse but steady. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk.”

“I understand. I love you,” he says again, voice low.

She hangs up the phone. Then she bursts into tears. It seems like the thing to do.

Ten minutes before the staff meeting, she stops crying and goes into the bathroom to wash her face and reapply her makeup.

She’s finishing up when Robyn knocks on the office door and pushes it open. She holds up a paper bag in front of her face as she enters. “Chicken salad for after,” she says by way of greeting. “Since I’m guessing the rest of your day is too busy for lunch.”

Alicia screws the cap back on her mascara and clears her throat. “Have the client calls started in yet?”

Robyn falls into the seat opposite Alicia’s desk, and starts eating a bag of potato chips. “A few. Karen has some calls waiting for you. The other associates have handled some.” She makes a face. “And Colin Sweeney left a message that if you need anything, he’s at your service.”

The two women consider what that could mean, and then Alicia shakes her head. There are only so many things she can deal with today, and there are far too many yet to come. “Leave the sandwich on my desk. Let’s go.”

The staff are well meaning but exhausting. Every single one of them seems to want to personally greet her before the meeting officially starts, ask with false or real sympathy when she’d heard the news, share their own feelings on the matter, and offer advice. When the meeting begins it’s a relief, except that everyone wants answers Alicia doesn’t have yet. Being the wife of the governor has always been a double edged sword, and she’s not sure how being the possibly ex-wife of the likely ex-governor will stack up. The clients are already looking for more answers than CNN can give, but Alicia doesn’t even know what her decisions will be on the things she does have control over, let alone the story that’s still unfolding. She can’t tell the clients things she doesn’t know. She tells the other partners as much.

“And when they ask anyway?” Zepps presses. Alicia folds her hands neatly on the table, trying to look unruffled in the face of forty-seven coworkers who seem to think it’s acceptable to stare at her only.

Clarke narrows his eyes. “Then we tell them our law services will remain unchanged. All they want is continuity of care. And gossip,” he adds flatly, “But they can get that from the nightly news.”

“We tell them it’s a personal matter,” Cary stresses, making eye contact with as much of the room as possible. “And that yes, our services are unchanged, and they can expect the same level of care and attention they’ve received since they started with us. Just deflect, as much as possible.”

Zepps braces his hands on the table. “I’m sorry,” he says, which from him is almost always a warning that he’s about to do something he thinks other people will want him to be sorry for. “But even if we’re sparing clients the gory details, for our own planning purposes, I need to ask, Alicia—“

“No, you don’t,” Cary interrupts, voice tight. Alicia looks at him with surprise. She sees glances being exchanged across the room.

“It’s not your call,” Zepps points out. His voice is still pleasant enough, but there’s a slight flush on his cheeks. He doesn’t like being called out in public. But then, neither does Alicia.

“What if we save this particular point for later?” Clarke suggests blandly, carefully not looking at Cary, who has his head down like a bull about to charge. Alicia is equal parts touched and annoyed.

Zepps scowls and looks away. “Okay,” he says impatiently. “Then am I allowed to say this yet? There are clients we haven’t had over the years, because it was too thorny for them to be involved with the governor’s wife’s firm. If Florrick resigns, we should call them.”

Cary’s eyes flicker to Alicia, and she raises her eyebrows, glad they’re finally talking about something constructive. “Make a list,” she says. “And then we’ll do some digging, figure out who’s vulnerable. Work with Robyn.”

Zepps nods at her, grateful and appeased, and she looks down the table. “What’s next?” she asks.

* * *

At three, she looks up to see Karen leaning nervously in her doorway. “Your mother’s here,” she says, mostly mouthing it, and Alicia sighs.

“Mom!” she calls out. “Thanks, Karen.” The girl nods, and slips back out of the office. Veronica steps in, eyeing Alicia critically. “Close the door, Mom,” she says. “Have a seat.”

“I had to call Grace to find out where you were,” she says reproachfully. “I tried calling you.”

“Well, I was at work,” Alicia says, spreading her hands to encompass her desk, maybe her whole office. “It sounds like you got the news anyway.”

“And what a surprise it was,” Veronica snits. “That girl is younger than Grace.”

“Gee, I can’t think why I didn’t pick up your call for this conversation.”

“Please tell me,” Veronica clasps her hands dramatically, “that you are seeing the light and divorcing that man.”

Alicia’s jaw clenches. “I haven’t decided,” she says, though her gut tells her that she has. “Though some sympathy wouldn’t go unappreciated, instead of the party I know you and Owen started throwing the second the news broke.”

Veronica looks hurt. “We just want what’s best for you.”

“And I like my life,” Alicia points out. “I like my kids. I’m not defending him, but it was my choice, and I’m not going to wish to undo the last 26 years.”

Veronica only does apologies in extremis, but she shrugs. “Well, do you want to get drunk?”

“Thank you, but I’m working,” Alicia says patiently.

“If you can’t leave work early to get trashed on the day your husband sleeps with a teenager and loses his job, when can you?”

“Thanks, Mom,” Alicia says pleasantly. “I’m going back to work now.”

* * *

At four she takes a breath, pours herself a drink, and goes to the livestream of Peter’s press conference. She considered not watching, but the only thing she wants less than watching it now is to have other people show it to her later, so she adjusts the volume and sits back with crossed arms. It’s mercifully brief. He admits to sleeping with the staffer, but claims to be “still investigating” other accusations. He defends his job, and proclaims his love for his constituents. He apologizes for the lack of respect he’s shown the office, the state of Illinois, and his family. Eli is visible just at the edge of some shots, face tight and anxious and angry.

Alicia swallows, watching the speech. She remembers standing behind him so vividly. She remembers the flash of cameras, the men in suits all talking around her, and she remembers feeling like a prop, and feeling so stupid that she ever let herself get used as anything at all. It took a long time before she even liked Peter again, and longer still before she felt like she could be with him and not be in danger of being used, of losing her new-found sense of self. Even when things were good between them again, they were never the same as they’d been the first time. Alicia learned to think of it as a partnership, but the word husband had taken on a new flavor, and the relationship remained somewhat mercantile. Alicia grew to relish the less intimate version of their relationship. She had always been attracted to Peter, and it was his drive and his power as much as anything else. She liked being able to drop by for sex and not fuss with candlelight and whispered declarations. She liked watching him win, and being a part of it. She liked that he was the father of her children and that they had almost three decades of shared experiences, and she also liked having her own apartment that he stayed at only sometimes, even though sometimes had evolved slowly into most nights, at least most nights she didn’t spend at his house in Chicago or Springfield.

It isn’t until she’s watching Peter up at the podium, apologizing as he had apologized eight years ago, that Alicia realizes her mistake. She may not be dependent on Peter this time around, may not have wrapped her life around his quite so intricately, but at some point during eight years of living mostly together, sharing kids and state dinners and lives, she forgot not to fall in love with him again. It’s been eight years after all. It was a long time to remain on guard. Nearly impossible, she thinks now, to see him nearly every day, to love him, and not be in love. Or maybe it’s just that with her eyes open, knowing his flaws, she thought she wouldn’t be able to be hurt like this again. His face as he speaks is serious, and as upset as she is, there’s a part of her even now that wants to take his face in her hands and smooth away the troubled lines, that thinks she would feel better in the safe circle of his arms. She draws in a ragged breath and presses her hands to her eyes. Dimly she hears Peter wrapping up, and the news anchors taking over the broadcast.

“Now the governor has denied allegations that he threatened Lucy Cartwright not to reveal their affair,” a reporter’s voice announces. “But the former staffer has posted recordings of some of their conversations that reveal exactly that, and we have some of those recordings here.” Alicia raises her eyes again to the screen, gone black with white subtitles that scroll out as Peter’s voice plays, poorly recorded but unmistakable.

“ _I know where you live_ ,” he says, in the particularly even tone he uses when he wants to intimidate. _“I know where your sister and your parents work. I know your school’s administration, and I know every person you will ever ask for a job. Do not think that you have an ounce of control in this situation.”_ Alicia can see him in her mind’s eye, looming as he does when he wants something he can’t get by asking nicely. She swallows hard as the newscaster takes back over.

“These are incredible threats from a governor to a nineteen year old girl, Neal, and I think we’ll be seeing some serious investigations into exactly what kind of administration Florrick was running here.”

Alicia stares, mind spinning as the reporters continue their commentary. She stands, goes to pick up her phone, and finds her glass still in hand. She considers hurling it at the wall for a second, but instead drains the glass and sets it back down, only a little harder than necessary. She dials Peter’s number, but it rings and goes to voicemail. She redials immediately, and this time the call is rejected. She grimly dials Eli. He doesn’t pick up, but in the space it takes her to pour another drink and pick up her phone again, it rings in her hand, Eli’s name scrolling across the screen.

“The next time I hear this kind of information on the goddamn news,” she starts loudly, white hot and cracking with anger, “I will go to the press myself, Eli!”

“ _I’m_ seeing it on the fucking news!” he bellows back, startling her. “He’s not saying a damn word to me, Alicia, it’s a fucking disaster!” His voice is strained to the breaking point, and Alicia knows from long experience he’s about ten seconds from a total meltdown. She closes her eyes, sinking back down into her chair. “I can’t do my job if he’s lying to my face about what actually happened, the press is having a field day, and the police are going to be here within the hour! This is not—argh!” he yells in wordless disgust.

“Eli, it’s going to be okay,” she says distantly, eyes still closed. “Just calm down. He needs you to just get him through the day. I need you to keep a handle on things. It’s going to be okay.”

“It’s not,” he mutters. “It’s not, it’s not—fuck, I have to go. I’ll tell him you called.”

Peter doesn’t call her back, but fifteen minutes later she gets another text from Eli. _Sorry, better now._ A few minutes after that, she receives, _Recordings real, Peter now talking_ , and then, _Police came and went. No charges yet._ The texts trickle in throughout the rest of the afternoon, keeping Alicia at least a few minutes ahead of the news, for the most part. _Going on tv,_ he texts at one point. _Wish me luck_. She does, and only a minute later she watches him step up to the same podium Peter had used earlier. Eli looks smooth and polished, and he adopts the same air of sardonic boredom he usually bestows upon the press. She’s probably the only one to notice how his hands grip the sides of the podium at the first question, and how he holds onto it like the railing of a storm-tossed ship until the moment he steps down.

 _You looked good_ , she texts.

 _Police back_ , he replies, after a few minutes’ pause. _Probably new info on the way. Keep eye out._

She remembers to breathe, and keeps the news droning on as she goes over deposition notes.

* * *

She works late, waving off Cary and Robyn, who both tell her she can go home. What’s waiting for her at home? Besides, Zach’s plane is due in, so she may as well work until it’s time to pick him up. The calls never stop coming though, so the amount of work she actually gets done is limited. Her car is parked in the underground lot, and as she walks out from the elevator, she’s already worried about getting from her parking spot at home into her building. She’s not expecting them to be waiting for her here. There are a half dozen of them, photographers and reporters and a single cameraman, and they swarm her as she enters the parking structure, get in her face to ask questions she doesn’t want to think about. She tightens her jaw and her hand on her bag, keeps moving forward until she’s at her car. She gets in and locks her doors, calls security to remove the offenders so she can back her car safely out. Her hands are shaking on the wheel, but she adjusts her mirrors and focuses on driving.

At seven-forty she’s in the cell phone lot at O’Hare, and at eight Zach is stowing his suitcase in the trunk and climbing in beside her. “I could have gotten a cab,” he says, and she shushes him. By nine they’re sitting in the living room with beers and Chinese takeout and Alicia is making Zach catch her up on his life, and by nine-thirty Alicia is pressing a tissue to her eyes while Zach looks on, alarmed.

“It’s no big deal,” he says. “We were only dating for two months. It doesn’t like, mean anything.”

“I know,” Alicia assures him through her tears. “Your father and I just spent a lot of time at dinner last week talking about you two, so—“ she shakes her head. “I’m not really making sense. It’s been an awful day.”

Zach accepts this as simple fact and hugs a couch cushion, watching her sympathetically.

“Ugh, tell me about your job,” she instructs, wiping her eyes. “I never hear enough updates from you or your sister.”

Zach launches into a description of his own political world in D.C., and for the first time all day, Alicia can forget to question whether her life is dissolving around her again or not. Until, at some point, the doorbell rings. They both look toward the hall apprehensively. Alicia doesn't like the idea of hiding in her own house, but she knows she can’t handle another paparazzi ambush at this point in the night. Zach gets up, a determined look in his eye. “Just don’t say anything,” she urges him.

He leans in to look through the peephole, and straightens up. “It’s Eli,” he calls back, still sounding suspicious.

“Let him in,” Alicia says tiredly.

Zach leads Eli into the living room. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Alicia starts, and she’d be ashamed at the strain in her voice if she had the energy to care anymore.

“No talking,” Eli agrees quickly. He holds up bottle of wine in one hand and a DVD case in the other, the title something that looks like it’s been scrawled in blood. “It has zombies. I would have brought something stronger than the wine, but frankly it seemed unsafe.”

Alicia laughs out loud in relief, and if there are tears in her eyes as well, neither of them comment. “I’ll get glasses,” she says.

She goes into the kitchen but she has to take a moment, bracing her hands against the counter and just breathing, before she thinks she can go back into the room without bursting into tears again. It’s one thing to turn it off in front of co-workers, clients, and the press. It’s another thing entirely to hold it together around her son and someone who is at least sometimes a friend. She didn’t have that opportunity last time, her children too young and her friends all melting away, but she’s desperately grateful to have it now.

Eli comes up behind her, clearing his throat. “We don’t have to watch the movie,” Eli says awkwardly. “Or you can keep the wine and I can go—“

Alicia turns around and hugs him hard. She’s crying again anyway, but it’s only a little bit. “No, we are getting drunk and watching your shitty movie,” she says fiercely, and he’s surprised into a laugh, pats her back carefully.

“Okay,” he says fondly.

“Thank you,” she whispers into his shoulder. They’re neither of them huggers by nature, but his body feels reassuringly solid against her own, and she thinks that if anyone can come close to understanding her betrayal today, it’s Eli. He’s been with Peter for over a decade now. It was no secret that they were gearing up for the presidential race in 2020, but that’s obviously a lost cause now. She doesn’t know if he can jump on a campaign at this point—probably, but not _his_ candidate. Not someone he’s shepherded and nursed along the trail since he was a disgraced, ex-con, former State’s Attorney. Not someone he found and brought to the table—not a friend. And she doesn’t know how much Peter’s actions will have hurt Eli’s reputation.

“You’re going to be fine,” he says, voice low in her ear, as sincere as she’s ever heard him.

She pulls back to hold him at arm’s length. “You too,” she says gently.

He ducks his head and redirects like the professional he is. “I believe you said something about getting drunk?” He grabs the wine glasses and gestures Alicia ahead of him back into the living room.

Zach sits with them for a while, clearly not ready to yield his watch on his mother’s mental health care, but forty-five minutes in he sighs with irritated affection and gets up. “This is awful, and I’m wiped out from the flight. I’m going to bed.” He leans in, kissing Alicia on the cheek. “I love you, Mom.”

She kisses him back, pulling his upper body down to her in a hug. “I love you too, honey. Thank you so much.”

“You are killing the mood,” Eli tells them as the body count rises steadily onscreen.

Alicia releases Zach and leans over to refill Eli’s glass. “I don’t get it. Why didn’t they just wait for the army to come rescue them?”

Eli sighs and starts to recap the last fifteen minutes’ worth of plot. Zach watches them for a moment, and then continues down the hall to his room, and his door closes with a soft click.

* * *

The movie ends, and Alicia flips off the TV. She’s curled up under an afghan, and Eli has slouched further and further until he’s now lying flat out on the adjacent couch. They stare at the dark screen together for a long moment. “You said there are three more in the series?” she asks. “Didn’t everyone just die?”

Eli picks his glass up off the floor, but from his angle he can’t quite manage to drink from it. He rolls over onto his stomach to drink, and stares meditatively at Alicia. “You should run for the Senate seat,” he tells her, instead of answering.

Alicia humors him and rolls with it. “Illinois or US?”

“US,” he says, and drains his glass.

“What would I do as a senator?” she scoffs, picking up her wine.

“Be brilliant,” Eli tells her, seriously enough that she stops, lowering her glass again and staring at him.

Then she bursts into laughter. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m—of course I’m drunk, this is our second bottle and Zach barely helped—but I’m serious. I’d run your campaign.” He props his chin on the arm of the couch and waits until she stops laughing and her smile fades slightly.

“You’d—“ Alicia is at a loss for words for a moment. She is also drunk. It had been the point of this part of the evening. “I’m getting divorced,” she says belligerently.

“Yes, obviously,” Eli says, but he gives her another minute.

“You wanted me to stay with him,” she accuses. She has no idea why she’s listing objections instead of rejecting the idea outright.

“Ye-ess,” he draws the word out. “When it made Peter look good. But we’re talking about you. I haven’t done the polling, but I’m guessing your numbers would go up if you left him.”

Alicia isn’t sure how to feel about the fact that strangers might like her better if she wasn’t married to the governor. “I can’t just divorce my husband and decide to run for senate,” she complains. “There has to be—I don’t know, some kind of waiting period.”

“It’s not a rebound guy, it’s a career decision,” Eli argues. “What better way to prove you’re unhurt by his actions, that you’re still a strong and successful woman who isn’t going to let her husband’s mistakes derail her own professional aspirations? This doesn’t have to hurt you; it can be the thing that launches you higher than you could have gotten by staying with him.”

Alicia eyes him skeptically, chin resting on her knees, swaddled in her blanket. “Are we talking about you or me?” she asks tartly. Eli drops his eyes, and she realizes only belatedly how on target a question it was, and wishes she could take it back.

Eli is silent for a long moment. “I’ve thought about this before,” he says finally, voice quiet and serious. “Way before any of this went down. You’d be good, Alicia. And we could do it. Just think about it.”

Alicia picks at the tasseled edges of the afghan. The idea sounds absurd, and yet…. And yet. She thought it was absurd when Cary first mentioned starting a firm together, and that was something she’d planned to do, just not nearly so soon. This isn’t something she’s ever planned, but Eli’s words have the same resonance as Cary’s long ago suggestion, and at the end of her nightmare of a day, she can’t reject the little thrill the idea gives her out of hand. But she won’t make any decisions tonight. She stands, trailing her blanket behind her. “I’m going to sleep. The spare bed’s made up if you want it.”

“We can talk about this more tomorrow,” he promises.

“Good night, Eli.” She presses a hand to his shoulder on her way out of the room.

* * *

For the rest of the week, Alicia immerses herself in work. She goes to court, she holds hands with clients, she runs staff meetings. The news of Peter’s scandal follows her everywhere. She remembers how to lock it down, smooth her face over the various slights and intrusive questions, push on. That much is a skill she never really lost. It’s harder to remind herself that she can’t call her husband at the end of each long day. She buries the urge in work, spends time with Zach while he’s in town, sees Owen.

Zach flies back to DC on Sunday morning. The night before he leaves, they have dinner sitting at the kitchen counter. “I get introduced as Peter Florrick’s son everywhere,” he says suddenly. “I don’t do it on purpose, it just happens.”

Alicia lets out a small breath, hating the look on her son’s face. “I know,” she says gently.

“Are you going to change your name back?” he asks.

Alicia takes a sip of wine, considering. She hasn’t actually thought about that aspect until now. “No,” she says, after a moment.

“Why?”

She pauses again. She knows how she feels, but she takes the time to articulate it carefully, because Zach deserves a real answer. “Because I’ve been a Florrick longer than I was a Cavanaugh. The last time I was Alicia Cavanaugh, I was twenty-four years old, and barely out of school. It’s not me, anymore.”

“But you’re still sharing his name. I don’t even want his name.”

“It’s been my name for twenty-six years,” she says, more confident now. “It’s the name of my children, and my law firm. It’s mine. I’m not giving it back.”

Zach plays with the stem of his wine glass and as always, Alicia wonders when he became old enough to drink. Sometimes she still worries about him being old enough to use the stove unsupervised. His face starts to go red, and she watches him with concern. “Were we awful to you, the first time?” he asks, voice suddenly clogged.

“Honey, no,” she says, turning his face towards her with a hand on his cheek. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“I just remember being so mad about selling the house,” he says tightly, not crying, but only barely. “I thought I knew how everything should work, but I didn’t understand anything—“

Alicia stands, pulling his head to her chest. “Zach, you were not awful. You were wonderful. You are still wonderful.”

He hugs her tightly. “That’s a mom platitude,” he complains, voice muffled.

She pushes him away slightly to cup his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Listen to me. You had to grow up so quickly back then, and you amazed me constantly. You took care of your sister, you stayed focused in school, and you were a good person. When you’re a parent, Zach, you worry constantly about your kids. I wasn’t always sure I was giving you the life you deserved, but I always, always knew that whatever I was doing right or wrong, you were something I could be proud of.” She searches his face for understanding, and he gives her a watery smile.

“I’m proud of you, too,” he says. “Is that weird?”

“Yes,” she laughs, and pulls him back into a hug, kissing the top of his head. “But I’ll take it.”

* * *

The days pass. She watches Peter resign from the TV in her living room, and she doesn’t call him after. She watches the news about the investigation from the governor’s office, the civil case from the staffer.

“What’s he going to do?” Grace asks her, worry evident through the phone. Alicia mutes the lieutenant governor’s speech. Caroline had never warmed to Alicia and the feeling was mutual, but Alicia has to admit she’s handling her sudden promotion well, and that probably an ex-school teacher who was a boring dinner companion was a welcome relief as Peter’s replacement.

“I don’t know,” Alicia answers honestly. “He’ll have options, though.” She gets up, taking the phone with her. She has laundry to be switched. “People like your father.”

“Do you not want to talk about it?” Grace asks.

“I just don’t know,” Alicia repeats gently. “Have you asked him about this?”

“He won’t talk about it either,” Grace says, troubled. “Sometimes he wants to hear about my life, but other times when I call him, he just cuts me off. I’m worried about him.”

Alicia stops with one hand on the dryer door. She doesn’t know how to respond to that. After a minute, Grace’s voice picks up again, changing topics to talk about her new apartment, her job. She’s thinking about buying a car. Alicia listens, grateful, and folds her laundry.

* * *

She waits a month, until she can watch the news and not hear or see Peter as one of the stories, until the requests for interviews stop and her clients stop apologizing to her instead of saying hello. She speaks to Peter a few times, on the phone and in person. They talk mostly about their jobs, about the necessities that need tending. She’s not over Peter nor the hurt he’s caused her, but the more she pretends like she is, the easier it is to bear everything. She waits a month, then she waits three more days. Then she dresses for work and stops at Peter’s apartment, where she hands him the divorce papers.

“Can we talk about this?” he asks. She’s still standing in the doorway.

“What would you say?” she asks in what she thinks is a reasonable tone. It isn’t like they haven’t been down this road before. Alicia knows everything he can say, and much of it was convincing—the first time around. She doesn’t think any of it will sound as good on repeat.

Peter shakes his head. “I want to make this right,” he tries anyway. “It was never about not loving you; you’re my wife. But you don’t know what that office is like, what it can do to you.”

Alicia raises her eyebrows at him. “It was the office that made you confuse your wife with a nineteen year old staffer? That is impressive.”

Peter winces. “Of course not, I’m sorry. Alicia, please come inside.”

Alicia shakes her head slowly. “No. I gave you your chance, eight years ago. I forgave you, truly I did. But this marriage is done, Peter. I’m done.”

The papers crumple slightly in his grasp. “Give it time, Alicia. You haven’t even tried. Do you have any idea what I’ve done for you over the years? What I’ve done from that office?”

She looks at him. She does know. She has kissed that mouth more times than she can count, has pushed her hands through his hair while she fucked him, or while reading in bed as he lay beside her, possessed and loved every inch of him. But she thought he could be better than this, and she knows now, finally, that he’s not. He’s always been like this. “I’m done,” she repeats gently, and walks away.

She slides into the driver’s seat of her car and just sits for a moment. Then she pulls out her phone. Eli picks up on the first ring. “Tell me how it would work,” she says.

* * *

She doesn’t mention it to anyone else until summer is fading. The timeline for a prospective senator to announce is much later than Peter’s presidential bid would have been, so they have time to gather their plans quietly. She told Eli she’s in and she meant it, but there’s still a part of her that feels like it’s nonsense at first. But then Eli’s polls start coming back, and he’s right: they look good. She finds herself watching C-SPAN, and on alternate days feeling calm or panicked. Yes, she can do this; she knows the law, she’s well-informed, she could handle herself. No, she’s drastically unprepared and totally unsuited for the job, and she’ll end up giving up her law firm only to go down in flames. She calls Eli more than once to explain to him that he’s crazy, how this was Peter’s scene but it’s not hers, how she doesn’t know anything about making laws, just how to manage the finished product.

“Alicia, you’re more than well enough prepared. And you’ll have staff for what you don’t know. That’s how it always works. Let me come over tonight, we’ll do another draft of your platform.”

She meets with various members of the DNC, most of whom she’s spoken with at one point or another over the past decade, and all of whom are familiar with her as Peter’s wife. They don’t even stop to question her credentials. All of their conversations are about fundraising, political allies, and poker-faced mentions of the other likely candidates. Alicia isn’t sure whether they’ll support her, but there’s not an eyebrow raised at her transition from politician’s wife to politician. They seem more comfortable with the idea of Alicia running than she is and eventually, it starts to rub off. Perhaps it’s simple familiarity with the idea instead of any winning argument, but Alicia starts to see herself in the role. It’s not a game she’s sure she’ll win (she leaves the aggressive displays of confidence to Eli), but it’s a game that more and more she feels qualified to play.

Despite her initial misgivings, she’s sure she’ll try. She wouldn’t have called Eli if she hadn’t been sure. But something is holding her back from discussing it outside of Eli’s closed door sessions until she’s at a bar with Cary one night after work. Her divorce has come through, Peter’s civil suit is over, and their firm has just completed a multi-million dollar class action settlement. They won the case, but she keeps thinking how it could have been easier if the law hadn’t allowed for the company’s shady dealings to begin with. She knows there were victims that opted out of the lawsuit. She knows there will be other companies taking advantage of the exact same vulnerabilities. She loves practicing the law, loves the intricacies of it, the debate-team logical puzzles of case strategy and the heady rush of the courtroom. But she can see the bigger picture now, and the idea of being not a band-aid but a real cure for all of the class actions like this, for all of the bad drug charges and trumped-up federal investigations she’s seen over the years makes her hungry for the next level. She’s ready.

“The look on Canning’s face!” Cary is laughing. “I want to frame it and hang it above my desk for motivation, except it might end up haunting my dreams.”

“I’m running for Rigby’s senate seat,” Alicia says, and drinks her tequila in one long swallow. He’s the first person she’s told. Eli has told everyone else, arranged her meetings, guided her through. She has no idea what the normal reaction to this statement should be. She looks at him expectantly.

His grin fades a little with confusion, eyebrows puckering. Slowly, his face clears, and he lets out a very long breath, tipping his head to the side with a smaller smile. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “When do you announce?”

“That’s it?” she asks.

His smile broadens again, and he drains his drink and motions for refills for both of them. “It’s not the most shocking thing I’ve ever heard, so yeah. When?”

“A few more months,” she says after a moment, thinking, _I’m still shocked_. “It might not happen at all. I’m still being vetted by the DNC. Eli says they like me, but…” she rolls her eyes, waving a hand. “It’s like courting the favor of the gods.”

“Agos and Associates,” Cary muses, looking up at her through his lashes. He sighs, bumping his glass against hers. “I’m going to miss you.”

“It might not happen,” she reminds him.

He smiles at her, a little sadly. “Yeah, it will.”

* * *

When it’s time, three months later, it’s not a large crowd, but it’s a lot bigger than the typical courtroom. Zach and Grace are both in attendance. Peter texts her just as the event starts. _Eli says if I show up, I’ll steal the cameras. I think he’s still mad at me. Knock them dead._

Alicia smiles faintly, but declines to show the text to Eli, hovering next to her. “Well then turn it off,” he snaps. “The last thing you need is your phone ringing on stage. Are you ready? Remember to smile. And don’t—“

“Eli,” she interrupts, eyes locked on the stage. “I’m ready.”

She can hear the forced change in his voice, in his whole stance, as he relaxes on command and summons a grin. “Break a leg,” he tells her, and she strides forward.

On stage they’re introducing her, and it’s not as the First Lady of Illinois or the wife of the governor, the State’s Attorney, or even Peter Florrick. Whatever the outcome of the monster she is about to unleash with this speech, she will do it as simply Alicia Florrick. She steps forward, and the cameras begin to flash.

**Author's Note:**

> I suspect this will be an AU by the current season's end--if not earlier--but that's what fanfic is for.


End file.
